


Redemption

by up_the_tower_1001



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Flashbacks, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Recovery, Steve Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:01:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/up_the_tower_1001/pseuds/up_the_tower_1001
Summary: Steve...Steve didn’t really like to think about things nowadays. Things like how Bucky seemed to quiet down when he came into the room, how he never seemed to be able to pull his punches quite as well when he spared with Steve.How Steve thought that he would have a friend to discover all this newness with, all these movies and tell him about women that catcall, but instead Bucky seemed to be completely at home in with this generation. He got the references they made and understood the jokes they told, leaving Steve in the metaphorical dust.He didn’t like to think about that much.





	Redemption

The first time Steve got catcalled, he didn’t know how to react. The women hooted at him, making comments about his body, in particular, his mouth and butt, and ‘what dey do.’ They laughed, sipping on water as he rushed past, looking down and feeling his face flush. He was well aware how things had changed socially from WWII to now. When someone explained that certain words were absolutely not appropriate anymore, he was quick to fix himself, even when aliens were attacking the Earth, because that type of stuff was important to him.

Really, the avengers just got lucky. He knew a million guys who were great guys during the war, but were never especially open minded about things like women and African Americans. Steve’s mom just raised him different, and now, he he was living in a revolutionary time, where people were making changes, if slowly, and speaking out about the social unjust. Not just speaking, but crying, shouting at their top of their lungs, reposting things on facebook and… the blue bird app. He’ll remember it later.

It was glorious. And even though he was in full support, sometimes things just caught him off guard. He had only lived in this world for about a year, and in total he still wasn’t that old. Normal people are still figuring things out at this age. He was practically a child here.

So he tried to take it in stride, and when he had time, he would ask Clint or Nat or Sam about it. He tried not to ask Tony. He had made that mistake too many times.

And technically it wasn’t an insult. They were sort of complimenting him. But the fact that they were so bold about it, it made him double check himself. And so he rushed past, face flaming, hands in his pockets.

So yeah, he was still getting used to a lot of cultural things. But then he found Bucky, or rather, Bucky found him, and he lured him in like a stray cat with a can of wet food. And it was hard to watch his best friend no longer himself, unsure of so many things when he used to be the man leading everyone with a long stride and his chin up, lips sitting comfortably in a sly smirk.

But time passed, and Bucky learned again how to be human. How to own things, how to realize when someone was joking. That one took a bit of practice, but once he started recognizing facial cues again, the progress was remarkable.

Sam decided that it wasn’t in either of their best interests to room together. He explained it slowly, as if to a child. To Sam’s credit, Steve wasn’t taking it as well as he probably could have. But to Steve’s credit, being away from Bucky for made him crazy. They had lived together all their lives, and it seemed almost common sense that they would live together now, ex-assassin or not. But Sam and apparently everyone else thought otherwise.

Of course, he thought he would know what was best for his best friend. They’d been inseparable all their lives. So Sam suggested they ask where Bucky wanted to live. So far he’d been in the hospital ward. And Steve agreed. He knew what Bucky would say, and if Sam needed to hear it out of Bucky’s mouth, then yeah, he could do that.

They met up in the mess hall, Bucky looking at them blankly, but never really at them. “Bucky, we want to ask you something.”

Bucky took a sip of his water through the straw on the sippy cup, eyeing them but revealing nothing. Sam took his silence as permission to go on.

“Well, the doctors think it might be a good time for you to move out of the wards. So, well, we were wondering where you might want to live.”

“Where I want to live?” Bucky’s brows narrowed slightly, but that was all that betrayed his confusion.

“Well, like, if you would want to live in your own apartment...or at mine.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped toward Steve, and there was a coolness to them, a distance. Steve shifted under the stare, still somewhat expecting to find his old friend. And in that hesitation, that glance, he remembered that he was wrong: they had not lived their entire lives together. _Steve_ lived _his_ entire life with Bucky, but Bucky had been living sporadically through the decades, along with hydra.

The thought made him almost physically ill. The guilt washed over him, suffocating him for a moment before he fought it back down. The silence only lasted for a couple of moments, but Bucky watched him the whole time, his eyes flicking over his face, and Steve was sure that he saw everything. Most people could anyway if they bothered to look. Steve was never good at hiding anything, especially from Bucky.

“I see.” He turned back to Sam, and Steve lowered his eyes. “And I am able to choose? Without consequences? Is this a test?” There was no suspicion in his voice. Nothing. He was asking point blank.

“No. No tests. Just asking where you would like to live. Or rather, living situations. I know it’s not ideal, but you have to stay in the tower. It’s...well, the guys upstairs don’t like the idea of you living completely alone right now. But you get your choice of a single room or a roommate.”

“The guys upstairs?”

“Oh. Um, the people in charge. The government. S.H.E.I.L.D.”

“Ah.” Bucky nodded again, and Steve caught his eye. He knew Bucky’s answer, but he was an optimist by nature. “I will live alone.” Bucky shoveled a mouthful of corn into his mouth and chewed, the conversation over, the decision made.

He saw Sam cast a small glance to Steve, but Steve couldn’t look at him. He was so sure. And so fucking wrong.

But he said nothing to change Bucky’s mind, and so Bucky moved into the room on the floor above Steve. And that Steve could deal with, because his best friend in the word was back. He was back, and Steve wasn’t alone. And yeah, Bucky was different, but so was Steve.

He made astounding progress. The first joke Bucky made sent Thor bellowing in laughter, smaking the man on the back with such rejoice that it made Bucky startle, jumping up and grabbing Thor’s arm, slamming the unresisting God into the table and bolting from the room.

Steve wasn’t there, though. It seemed like he never was.

But still, he was making great leaps and bounds. His therapists was amazing according to Sam. Bucky became friends with Clint, both of them sarcastic and witty. He had long sparring matches with Thor, the assasin’s speed and skill making up for the god’s strength of body. He meditated with Bruce, which was surprising. Bruce said it was good practice, staying calm in a room alone with a killing machine, and Tony even warmed up to the guy after Barnes reluctantly gave him permission to tinker with his arm.

Natasha and Bucky didn’t get along quite so well, even when Bucky was getting better so quickly. Steve asked hesitantly once, and Nat told him that they were too close. Shared too many painful experiences, and neither of them were likely to open up to the other, so instead of being their for each other, they served as a reminder instead of horrors that they didn’t wish to reopen.

And Steve...Steve didn’t really like to think about things nowadays. Thing like how Bucky seemed to quiet down when he came into the room, how he never seemed to be able to pull his punches quite as well when he spared with Steve.

How Steve thought that he would have a friend to discover all this newness with, all these movies and tell him about women that catcall, but instead Bucky seemed to be completely at home in with this generation. He got the references they made and understood the jokes they told, leaving Steve in the metaphorical dust.

He didn’t like to think about that much.

He ran a lot now, though. More than he used to. And he slept more too. He wasn’t sure what to do with that information, so he just added it to the list of things not to think about. And maybe he didn’t go out quite as much, but so what? He was taking sometime to himself to not think about things.

When Fury assigned a mission and asked Bucky if he wanted to come and make himself useful, Steve practically bit his tongue off trying not to protest while Bucky breezily accepted, showing up the morning of in his all black tactical gear, his eyes cold and assessing.

Steve couldn’t think of anything but Bucky’s breathing on the com as they snuck through the base in Poland. He was a mess, and he floundered around so badly that eventually Natasha had to take control, giving out orders without explanation but a sharp look to Steve. No one questioned her.

Bucky was flawless though. He performed every task silently and swiftly, taking out guards as if they were pawns and he was a queen, moving everywhere at once.

“What the hell was that?” Natasha asked when they got back, Steve tearing off his cowl and booking it to his room. Running away from the team. His team. She was furious.

“I don’t know. I was distracted.” He gripped the door handle hard, standing under the frame that lead to his apartment while she stood in the hall, small and flaming and composed.

“Yeah, I noticed.” She waited, eyebrows raised as Steve tried to come up with something, anything, that wasn’t as pathetic as the truth was. But he was coming up blank, his inability to lie crippling him yet again. “Really? That’s all you’re going to say? What has been going on with you lately? You’re reclusive. Quiet. I feel like I never see you anymore.”

And even while said with her arms crossed and her tone accusatory, Steve knew Nat well enough to know that this was as vulnerable as she got, admitting that she missed Steve, and it made him feel like shit because he _knew_ how much she hated it.

He felt the guilt rising through his chest. “I don’t know. I guess I haven’t really been feeling myself lately.”

Something in his face must have shown, because honestly, when does it not. She narrowed her eyebrows as if she had seen something that she didn’t like. “Oh. It’s James.”

Steve flinched at the use of his first name. “Nat, I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m sorry.”

She nodded understandingly, and he sighed, shoulders sagging in relief before she shoved herself through his door without warning. Steve closed his eyes briefly before shutting the door. She marched into his living room. It had a couch and a couple tables, pillows, and a T.V larger than Steve thought strictly necessary. He hadn’t changed it since he first moved in, letting Pepper or Tony or whoever designed the entire thing decide what goes where. They left it pretty simple so that he would be able to decorate it the way he wanted, but Steve had been too busy ever since he woke up. Ever since he was made into this ‘super soldier’. Ever since he was born, really.

Nat gave it a quick unimpressed look-over. Not many people came into his space. There was something intoxicating about having privacy now that he was known all over the world, and sometimes he found himself clinging too tightly to it. With Natasha standing there, he was left wondering how long it had been since anyone besides Sam had set foot in here at all.

“This is where you live?” Her eyebrows rose.

“Why are you here, Nat?” He wasn’t sure that he was ready to talk about the apartment, and he knew that if he attempted to distract her, well, she was Natasha after all. When she was on a mission, there were few who could stop her. Better to get it over with.

She went over to where a picture of an old picture of some building in Brookland was framed, sitting on a wooden table. She picked it up to examine it. He itched to hide it from her, as if she would see some hidden part of him just by looking at the picture that he didn’t even put up. “I’m here because you haven’t been anywhere ever since Barnes came back from the dead. And if we are being honest, it’s starting to piss me off. And then today?” She put down the frame and focused her entire attention to Steve. He would rather have her looking at the picture.

“I have a lot on my mind.” He crossed his arms, looking her square in the eye. Take your eyes off the beast and it pounces on you, killing you before you have a chance to utter a single noise.

“A lot on your mind. Funny, you never seemed to have ‘a lot on your mind’ when we were out killing aliens and flighting Loki.” Her eyes burned.

“Well, that required a lot of my attention.” He winced at the weak excuse and dropped his eyes momentarily.

But the beast didn’t strike. Insead, when he looked back up, Nat wasn’t even looking at him. She was staring back at the picture, but not really seeing. Her eyes were glassy and she looked furious about it. Steve froze, watching her struggle.

He’d never seen her cry. The widow was a ruthless killing machine, and if being an assassin wasn’t enough, he was sure that being a woman wasn’t the easiest thing to be in this industry, all the jackasses waiting for her to slip up, so show even a flicker of weakness. And as far as Steve knew, she never had slipped up. Sam was terrified of her, Fury didn’t trust her, and her enemies only saw fear itself before she eliminated them.

And now, she was silent in Steve’s apartment, mask cracking. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but she beat him to it. “Why are you lying?” He blinked, but she was still looking at the picture.

“I don’t...know.” But maybe that was another lie, one to himself just as much to her. One that he wasn’t really ready to find the truth to.

“Steve. You are one of the few people in this world I trust. I don’t know exactly how, but somehow you weaseled your way into my life, sticking you’re dumb head where it doesn’t belong and being too stubborn to leave. You did the impossible.” Her eyes were dry when she looked back at him “Steve, if you have any respect for me at all, you will answer me with truth. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate, didn’t question himself. He knew for sure. Maybe one of the few things he did know in his life. “I do, Nat. I do.”

She nodded slowly, taking the information in, eyes looking at him carefully, guarded but trusting him enough to be telling the truth. That type of trust made Steve dizzy, and he was sure Natasha felt the same way. Maybe even to a higher degree. Her list was much shorted than Steve’s, and Steve’s list was pretty short. And it included dead people and people who were older than 80.

“Then, if you trust me, I’m begging you Steve, let me in.”

Steve attempted swallowing, but he found that his mouth was dry. “I don’t know if...I can.” He took a breath. “I don’t know…” He almost laughed at how pathetic he was. “I don’t know if I remember how? I can’t-fuck-I don’t even know myself what’s going on.”

“Yeah.” She picked at her sweater, and suddenly Steve saw her. She wasn’t doing this for her, or the team, or Fury, or anyone. She was doing this for him. She was putting herself out on a ledge for him, and even if it killed him, it was killing her just as much. “But that’s why you talk. Because it’s hard to see everything in your head, but when you lay it all out, suddenly, things seem to make sense. Or not. Either way, you can’t keep it all up here.” Her pointer finger touched her temple.

Steve wiped a hand on his jeans. “What did _you_ do?”

She looked at him, face showing nothing. “You aren’t me.” It was blunt and it made Steve feel something deep in his chest. He wasn’t sure what.

“Yeah.” He walked over to the couch and sat down on the edge, leaving plenty of room for Natasha. “I know.” Nat sat down with him, pulling up a leg and turning to face him. “I wish I could get drunk.”

She smiled. “I could inject you with a couple shots of morphine. You’ll feel it for a couple minutes at least.”

He smiled weakly. “I think I’ll pass on that, but thanks.” And then there really wasn’t escaping it. But he didn’t even know where to start, and so they sat there for a long moment while Steve tried to organize his thoughts while simultaneously trying not to think about anything in specifics. “Maybe it would help if you asked me questions?”

Nat nodded and thought for a moment. Steve plucked at his shirt, sweaty already. “Did you ever talk to Barnes about any of this? Anything that happened between you guys, whether it be your past or how he tried to kill you, or anything?”

Her eyes were passively resting on her hands, and he looked down at his own, compulsively kneading a pillow. He stilled it. “No.” And that was it. Simple, uncomplicated. They never talked. Steve talked to agents, about what he knew and vouching for Bucky, fighting for his freedom. Bucky talked to agents, first saying absolutely nothing, his eyes wildly searching for the exit and watching everyone in the room, then threatening to kill them if they didn’t take the handcuffs off, and finally telling them to go fuck themselves before he put a foot in their asses. But they never talked to each other.

Steve tried. He really did. He came to Bucky's door several times, hand raised to knock. But then, he couldn’t do it.

“Why?”

“I don’t-” But he cut himself off quickly. “Because...I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“That he would blame me. That he would-” Steve choked up for a second, bile rising to his throat before he swallowed it back down. “That he would hate me,” he whispered. Natasha said nothing. She didn’t tell him that it was impossible, that they were best friends and that his fears were unjustified, and for that, Steve was eternally grateful. “And he never came to me. So, eventually, I figured that he didn’t want to talk. Just forget.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“No.” And just like when she asked him if he trusted her, the answer came strong and unwavering. Sure. “No,” he said again, softer this time. “I don’t…” He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to forget. He was the best time of my life. I can’t forget. So I understand why he wouldn’t want to talk about it. I’m still stuck in the past. I’ll always be.” And the last part came out a little bitter, but he couldn’t help it.

“I guess I thought that he would get better, and then we would be able to figure out this new world together. That I wouldn’t be alone anymore. But then, he got better and suddenly within a couple weeks he’s fitting in better than I ever could.

And I don’t feel jealous, I don’t think. It makes me happy that he can adjust so well, that he can make friends so easily because that’s the Bucky that I knew. But I can’t stand watching him, because more than anything else, it makes me feel alone. That my best friend doesn’t want to…” He faded out, coming up for breath. Nat was still, watching him closely. “Yeah,” he finished off lamely.

He twisted his fingers together and tried to keep a safe distance from the words he was saying and his emotions.

“Why were you scared that he would hate you?”

The question was still soft, but it came at him like a punch in the gut, and then he was on the train, one hand slipping but the other still reaching out, the sting of the wind and those brown eyes, falling. He snapped out of it just as quickly as it took him over, but Natasha was suddenly by his side, calling his name. His muscled locked up in absolute terror. “I’m okay.” She didn’t ask what happened, but smoothed over the back of his hair, messed it up by carding through it, and then smoothing it back down again.

Even though everyone in America knew the story, saying it was more painful that the plane crash. He didn’t look Nat in the eye. “I let him drop.”

“No, you didn’t.” The conviction in Natasha’s voice shocked him a little. He’d gotten the same response from Sam when he admitted his greatest blunder. Sam had giving him a long speech, trying to convince him otherwise. Natasha didn’t. “You didn’t, Steve.”

“Yeah, well, I was there. I know what happened.”

“I think that if you tried to apologize for that, James you knock you on your ass for even suggesting that it was in any way your fault.”

But Steve couldn’t reply anymore, because suddenly he was crying and Natasha’s arm was wrapped around the back of his head, pulling him close to hide his face, hide his shame.

He often hears metaphors comparing crying like a dam breaking, and suddenly he understood. He couldn’t stop the current, only ride it as it dragged him along, sometimes so long that he was drowning, so long that he could barely pull in a breath, but then Natasha was there, carefully reminding him to breath, just breath in and let it out.

They stayed like that for a long time, Steve’s mind practically blank with grief and regret. But apparently even super soldiers run out of tears eventually, and he was reduced to a sweating shaking mess, clinging onto Natasha and drawing in breaths so ragged that his whole body shook with them.

She held him like a mother, and it was a weird thought. She rubbed his back in soothing circles while he tried to calm down. He sagged against her, exhausted by the explosion of emotions.

“Steve?” she said, as he found himself with his eyes closed, drifting asleep. He blinked them open and slowly pulled away from her, leaning him head on her shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look into her eyes. He grunted in response. “I can’t tell you how to live your life, but as your friend, I think you should take some time off. Alone, away from the tower for a couple weeks, or months.” Steve tensed, but she kept going. “You are a special case. You lost everything within a week, and to everyone else, it’s easy to say that you had 70 years, but to you it passed in a couple seconds. You’ve had no time to grieve. Instead, fucking Fury tossed you to the head of the Avengers and told you to lead. And you did, because you’re Steve, of course. Because you thought you had some sort of duty to everyone else. But Steve, you don’t owe anyone anything. Do you understand that?”

Steve picked a piece of crust out of his eye. “It don’t owe anyone anything, but I do have a responsibility to-”

“No. You don’t. You feel like everything rests on your shoulders, but Steve, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Tony Stark, Thor, me, and Bruce, we all existed before you were dug back up.”

Steve tried to smile but he couldn’t manage it. “I don’t know what else to do though. If not the Avengers, then what? What else am I good for?”

“I can’t answer that for you, Steve,” she said honestly. “But that’s why you need to go out and figure it out for yourself. You need some time to do things that normal people do. To be away from some of the people in this tower.”

 _From Bucky_ remained unspoken, but Steve understood. And god did it hurt. Right when he finally had the most important thing in his life back by some crazy, fucked up merical, he had to step away. But Natasha was right, he knew. He never had a time to process Bucky’s death, or Peggy’s, or everyone else he knew. All of them, gone. Even Bucky. He was gone, and the thought made him want to curl up and cry for hours. Or sleep and never get up.

Instead, he nodded on Nat’s shoulders. “Yeah,” he croaked. “But maybe, I could still talk with you? Now and then?”

“God, Steve, of course. Of course.” Steve nodded and his eye drifted back close again. “But, Steve, are you...seeing anyone to help you get through this?”

“Like...a therapist?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” When the Loki threat was gone, there was a woman. Sharon Carter. She told him about professionals, scientists who were trained in helping people with their problems. But Steve, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Somehow, paying someone to listen to him problems was humiliating in a way that he was too embarrassed to voice. He didn’t think of Bucky or Tony or anyone as a lesser person or weak for actively seeking out the help that they needed, but for some reason, he never went himself. “No.”

And he was expecting Natasha to try and break him down, convince him that he needed this, that it was good for him. Instead, she said, “Yeah, me neither.” And the small understanding made him grateful that it was Natasha who he showed his messy side to, because she would never judge him, never make him feel like his emotions weren't right in any way, because she went through her own fucked up shit. She understood that people were going to deal with it in different ways, and whether she thinks it makes sense or not, she will respect them.

He picked at a loose thread on his sweatpants, timidly asking, “So, if I were to move out,” still not making a full commitment on anything, “when do you think I should go?”

“I don’t know. Maybe sooner than later, if I’m being honest. Today was... bad. It will help me out in convincing people to let you have some space without going into any details.” Steve couldn’t help but tense slightly at the reminder that if he did this, everyone would know. It wouldn’t just be in between Nat and himself. They wouldn’t know the details, but they would guess. He took a breath to steady himself. Remind himself why he was doing this in the first place. It didn’t matter. They were his friends, and if they cared for him, then they would understand, not judge.

And to put your trust into someone like that, it wasn’t something that Steve wasn’t particularly practiced at. Trusting someone not to stab you in the back, literally, not metaphorically, and trusting them to cover you, to haul you out of the battle field if you got wounded or not leave you behind was a whole different type of trust. To leave, and to expect them to understand without knowing anything, how could he do that?

But Nat gently took his hand, and he knew he had to. He had to, or else they wouldn’t be able to trust him. Trust him to take care of them, and to take care of himself. Something he also wasn’t very practiced at.

“Fury?”

“I’ll take care of it.” And that’s it. Nat would do it. Of course she would. She’d never had a problem going toe-to-toe with the pirate. She had never once considered him her superior, but instead, simply the bureaucrat in control at the time.

“Thanks. Go easy on him,” he added as an afterthought. She chuckled at that, and Steve smiled.

 

There was a coffee shop underneath him. It was small and cozy, what Tony would call “hipster” whatever that meant nowadays. He could smell the roasted beans wafting up through the floors in the early morning, and he would get out of bed and go for a quick jog when the heat of the sun was causing the streets to steam up.

It was good to be out of the tower. But...not great. He found very quickly that his shy guy personality was winning him very few friends, and suddenly he found himself completely alone in this city that he loved but didn't know at all.

Did he used to be like that? It was hard to remember. For sure he had trouble with the girls. Bucky would always hound him afterwards. “Come on, Steve, you just gotta talk to ‘em!” But they both knew that intelligent conversation wasn’t the issue. Both girls would swoon over Bucky, his muscles and his height and his hair, and then whoever was the unlucky one who got matched up with Steve spent the whole night trying to catch Bucky’s eye. She never did of course. Bucky would never do something so low as to take Steve’s girl. But he didn’t need to for her to leave Steve as soon as the night was over.

He remembered getting into a lot of fights though, as a kid and especially through his teens. Sometimes even into early adulthood. And when he got the serum, his whole life was war, so that counted as one big fight.

But making new friends? He couldn’t remember. There was the howling commandos, but they fell into his lap naturally. There was Peggy, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like she was pursuing him and less the other way around. He was stuck in his old mindset with his old body, never allowing him to think that a woman like Peggy would be into a man like him. Not until the very end.

And there was always always Bucky. Bucky never left. And really, with Bucky, who else did he need? He had his best friend in the world, and instead of growing apart as they aged, they grew together, wrapping around themselves like a twisted tree. He was always there, and Steve just assumed that he would always be there. When he fell, Steve couldn’t think about it. He dove into his mission, refusing to think about Bucky, not on principle but out of survival instinct. He wouldn’t be able to handle it. To even comprehend it. Until the end, where he did. He saw it with perfect clarity, just for a moment, before his brain shut it off again, the concept too large. But for a moment, he saw the world without Bucky, and it was black. The ice was snowy white, soft and cool. The decision was easy.

And with these weeks, when he was finally able to think, he realized that it was a decision. There were other ways out. But he couldn’t take them. He wouldn’t take them. With that thought, he had to call Natasha for the first time since he moved out. She was there within several minutes, and he wasn’t sure how that was even possible. They had a long talk. Natasha poured some wine just for the effect, and Steve fell asleep with a headache afterwards.

He was doing better though. He was thinking about things that he didn’t want to think about. It was lonely for a while, but then he got catcalled again while he was jogging.

This time it was by 2 young women, both with tattoos lacing their arms and bright hair, dyed into soft colors and tied up by bandanas.

The first one gave a long whistle and the second one called out, “He definitely doesn’t skip leg day. Damn papi!”

He wasn’t sure why he stopped, and it really made no sense, but he did. He stopped and turned to face them. They raised their eyebrows as he came in front of them.

“I have to admit, when I first heard women catcalling me, I almost crashed into a telephone poll.”

The second one smiled. “Oh yeah? Where’ve you been? This is New York. You gonna see a lot more shocking things than this, I can promise you that.” The first one nodded and smacked her gum.

“Oh. Well, funny story, I actually used to live here. But, I got trapped in the ice for about 70 years, give or take a couple.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she broke out into laughter. “Damn, I knew you was familiar looking. You’s the Captain?”

“Yeah. I’m trying to catch up on the times, but I’m afraid I’m not very good at it.”

“You mean like you a racist or somethin?”

He laughed, her straightforwardness somewhat refreshing. “Well, no. I try to be socially conscience. That’s not how my mama raised me to be.”

She nodded her head, red hair bounding. “Your mama’s a good woman then.”

“That she is.”  
The first girl nodded and smacked her gum.

“So you just behind the times then. Like, I guess that makes you almost a grandpa. Without the kids.”

Steve winced slightly at the term. “Yeah, I’ve been referred to as gramps more than once.”

The red headed girl was about to say something when the green haired girl nuddged her, leaning over to whisper something that made the other girl laugh, and suddenly Steve felt that he had made a huge mistake. These girls weren’t the type of people he was used to, so why did he think he’d be able to relate to hem at all. They were younger and cooler, and he was a grandpa. He felt the rising need to quickly get out of the situation.

“We can show you a couple things you missed if you want? Like movies and stuff that you missed.”

Steve blinked. “What?” he asked dumbly.

“You know. Like Netflix, and funions and stuff.”

“Fun-yons?”

“Yeah. we can show you around. Doesn’t look like you’re doing too much hero stuff right now. We’ve seen you running that tight ass up and down these streets for a while now. Come to think of it, I can’t believe I never recognized you. Damn. I’m Carly by the way. And this is Lilly”

And without warning Steve was being taken to bars and movies and restaurants he’d never heard of with two girls whose hair changed every month. And it was amazing. He was having fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fun. Maybe it was before he’d known that Bucky was still alive. Maybe it was before the crash, before the war. Maybe he’d never had fun before at all. It sure felt like it.

As promised, they showed Steve netflix, and he quickly found himself watching way too much T.V than was healthy for the average person, but he was a super-human so he could handle it.

That’s something else Carly taught him. Stop referring to himself as super-soldier. He wasn’t a soldier. He was a man. Once, he was a soldier. Now, he is a Breaking Bad enthusiast. When she told that to him in that stubborn way of hers, knowing exactly what she was talking about and so sure of everything, it made him want to cry. And it made him want to punch himself in the face for wanting to cry. It was something that Nat would have said.

The first time he ever watched Star Wars he spent the rest of the night thinking about it. When he went out with Carly and Lilli to play dance dance revolution, he got smoked by Lilli whose feet moved so fast his eyes couldn’t even process what was going on. And the first time he ordered delivery Thai food, he leaped up to open the door, stomach growling with anticipation.

Only, it wasn’t the delivery man. It was Bucky Barnes, standing outside his door, his expression unreadable.

Steve froze. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was notice that _hey, Bucky’s hair has grown longer. I wonder if he’ll cut it soon._

“Where the fuck have you been?”

His snarl broke Steve out of his trance. It hit him hard in the windpipe. “What?” he croaked.

The other man didn’t wait for an answers. Instead, he shoved past Steve, almost knocking him over in the process, and entered Steve’s humble apartment. It was small, but cozy. The couch was brown leather, the chairs green and made of wood, the soft lighting from the opposite window where the sun had just set. Bucky looked starkly out of place with his tense shoulders and black combat gear as if he were expecting some sort of fight. “Bucky, you can’t-”

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” he shouted, whipping around so aggressively that it made Steve flex his hands, reminding himself that it wasn’t an attack. That he didn’t need to crouch, getting into a fighting position and search out the nearest weapon. Bucky’s eyes were wild and his fists were clenched. They were _shaking_.

“I don’t...what are you doing here?” Compared to Bucky’s voice, Steve’s stammer sounder like a whisper. It was weak and uncertain, and the _hated_ that he felt that way around Bucky. It reminded him of the reason he left in the first place. _Bucky_ was that reason, and now he’s screaming at Steve, absolutely livid for reasons that Steve was missing.

“What am I doing here?” He laughed a humorless laugh. “What are _you_ doing here? Holed up like a fucking rat.”

Had Nat told him where Steve was? No, she wouldn’t have. He must have found out himself. After all, he had acquired some new skills when he was the winter soldier. Those skills didn’t just leave. He probably found Steve easily.

“I’ve been taking some time off.”

Bucky had no appreciation for Steve’s honesty. “You’ve been gone for over a month. How long do you need?”

And the question was so cold that it made Steve dizzy momentarily. He repeated Natasha’s words in his head. _As long as you need_. But the way Bucky said it made him feel ashamed, like he was letting everyone down. Like he was weak.

_You are not weak. You are strong._

“As long as I need.” He crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw.

Bucky flared for a moment, anger taking control for just a terrible, terrifying second. Steve could see it in his eyes. After so long of no emotion, Bucky tended to be all over the place. At least, that’s what Bruce told him what Bucky had said to him. Steve was observing it for the first time since Bucky left the hospital. HIs eyes were narrow with fury and his body quaked with the power it held. Steve braced himself.

But as quick as it flashed, Bucky reigned it in with force. His face went blank and his voice calm. HIs hands were still shaking though. Steve longed to calm them. His chest clenched with the thought.

“For what?”

Steve suddenly realized how easy it had been when he was observing Bucky from afar. Whatever he thought was going through Bucky’s head, it was only his best guess. It ranged from terrible to tolerable. Now, having Bucky in front of him, he had no doubts how Bucky felt.

They weren’t friends anymore. Bucky pulled him out of the water because he had to. Because Steve was a link to something important. But not because they were friends. And they sure as hell weren’t friends now. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. They are my own reasons.”

And if his voice cracked at the very end, Steve chose to ignore it. Bucky sneered. “You left without an explanation. You left and sent Romanov as your messenger girl. Do your teammates not deserve a little more than dead silence from you?”

Steve felt anger flow underneath the depression. “Oh, so you’re here for the team? Out of righteous anger?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, body going completely still. “It’s not right.”

Steve sighed, and his anger drifted out of his bones. He was exhausted. “How do you expect me to be honest with you if you aren’t honest with me?”

“Don’t talk to me about honesty, Rogers. Don’t you are bullshit me.” And he was furious again.

“Hey,” said a sweet voice. Steve turned around to see Lilly, green hair and Pok Pok uniform. In her hand were 2 bags of steaming food. Her eyes were on Bucky, wide and nervous.

“Lilly? Hey. Um, yeah, sorry. Let me get that.” She nodded, eyes still trained on Bucky. Behind him, Bucky was silent. He took the bags from her and put them on the counter. “Let me get my wallet.” He glanced at Bucky, but the man was turned to the side, staring out the window with his hands in his pockets. He wouldn’t attack her, he knew. He wasn’t sure why he looked at all. But all he got was a well-muscled back. So he went to the living room, fished his wallet from between the cushions, and pulled out some bills.

When he got back, Bucky was in the kitchen staring blankly at the bowl of fruit. Lilly was looking at Steve strangely, and for a moment he wondered if Bucky had said something. He didn’t ask. Instead, he gave her a tight lipped smile and handed her the money. “I didn’t know you worked there,” he said, weakly attempting at conversation.

She shrugged and took the money. In the typical Lilly fashion, she made no comment on Bucky, or the fight, or how long she was standing there. Instead, she turned and left. And Steve couldn't have been more grateful.

He shut the door, and turned back to Bucky. The silence was suffocating. Bucky was looking at Steve carefully, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. In anger or confusion, Steve wasn’t sure. It looked like anger.

“I got Thai,” he said, wincing at how loud his voice was. He wasn’t sure he was very hungry anymore. Bucky’s appearance had his stomach in knots.

“Was it me?” Bucky's asked, his voice low and flat. His long hair drifted in front of his face, and the shadows made his eyes flicker and his features sharper.

The question made Steve blank for a moment. Several different options flashed before him. He could lie, or avoid answering. But then, Bucky ad always been able to spot his lies a mile a away. Either way, he’d give him the answer. He had to tell him. And it was terrifying. To admit leaving the man he’d grown up with, his best friend. To admit he left _because_ of him.

He was panting, dimly aware of his heartbeat pounding rapid fire. “Not only you. But, yeah, a little bit.” He watched Bucky’s face carefully, but the assassin didn’t reveal a thing. His eyes stayed locked on Steve, his mouth still and hands still. He said nothing. “When they pulled me out of the ice, it was in the middle of...a lot of stuff. I’m not sure how much you heard.” He paused to let Bucky fill him in, but again the man was completely silent. He cleared his throat. “Loki attacked, and Fury wanted me to lead the avengers. I really wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but there were _aliens_ and I met Thor, and the world was a mess. So I stepped back into the suit I had just spent 70 years freezing in, and fought. Because what else could I do if not fight?”  
His breaths were loud in the small apartment, and he wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans. He was talking, and it was coming out in short, painful clumps, but he couldn't find it in himself to stop talking. Because for the first time, Bucky was in a room with him, and he was listening. Demanding to know what was going on with Steve. And even if it wasn't because he cared how Steve was doing, or what he was doing, or if he didn’t care at all about Steve or the life that they had shared before all this fucked up shit happened, Steve couldn’t stop. It was more for himself than Bucky, and if there was ever a time to be selfish, it was now, with Bucky’s time and patience.

“And once that was over, it seemed like there was one thing after another. I was so busy, and then I had to learn how the politics of it all worked. To be honest, I’m still not very good at that.” He laughed thickly.

“But I never had time. I never got to...I never got to grive. I didn’t-” He took a shaking breath. “I didn’t process how everything I loved was gone. How the commandos, were gone. Peggy. You.” Bucky dropped his eye contact, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I never got to think about any of that. And I didn’t want to either. It was all gone, and how was I supposed to deal with that? I was all alone. No one knew how much it sucks when you not only miss a reference, but you miss the reference every single time. When you have to ask for tech support for the simplest things. When you realize that every single person in brookland that you might have seen or gone on a date with or went to school with, they are all _dead_.” He wasn’t ashamed at the tears leaking down his face. He probably should have been.

“And then, when you came back, I thought that maybe I wouldn’t be alone anymore. It was...a dream. A nightmare. I don’t know. But you were back. Somehow. And you had gone through all this fucked up shit, and I thought that maybe I could pay back even a fraction of the debt I owed you for saving my dumb ass countless times in Brookland.” He swiped his eyes with the heels of his hands only for them to refill. “But I couldn’t. Because...you didn’t need me.” He couldn’t see Bucky. Only a Bucky colored blur. “And suddenly you were hanging out with Clint and Tony and doing meditation with Bruce. You got all their references and-fuck-” because this was coming out all wrong. He wasn’t trying to blame his unhappiness on Bucky. Bucky was the only thing that had ever brought him happiness.

But how could he explain that through his stuttering breaths and his sagging shoulders and his pathetic tears. He leaned against the wall for support, feeling like he did before the serum. His lungs rattled in his chest. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he managed, hiding his eyes with one hand, clutching his shirt with the other.

Bucky snorted, and Steve’s whole body tensed, trying to prepare himself for hard words even though he knew that there was nothing he could do. Every blow would hit home if it was spoken by Bucky. “You think I’m well adjusted?”

Steve wiped his eyes, and for a moment, he could see Bucky’s face clearly, self loathing and anger directed inward and not at Steve.

“I still can’t take a shower because the faucet brings back memories of them hosing me down. I can't be in a room with more than 5 people in it because I have to keep track of every single one, the nearest exit, and which ones are the strongest, assessing how I would kill them if it came to that. And it’s funny, I know it will never come to that. Why would it? But some part of my brain thinks everything is a threat, and I can’t turn it off. Anything covering my nose, mouth, eyes, or ears causes me immitiate panic. And I’m violent and moody and impulsive.”

“I should have come back for you.”

“What?”

“I should have looked harder. I just gave up, because I’m a fucking coward. Because you were my whole world, and I let you fucking _slip out from my fucking fingers! I let you die! I fucking let you drop and get captured by those bastards_ -”

“Steve, shut up!”

“- _and they fucking tortured you Bucky! How could I have been so fucking stupid?_ ”

“Steve, shut the fuck up and listen to me!”

“I don’t blame you for hating me. I can’t even stand myself. I left Peggy and everyone because when you went down, I was fucking weak and I set out on a fucking death wish.” He gripped his hair, nails digging into the scalp. “I saw you fall. I saw you fall every fucking night until I went under because I couldn’t deal with what I had done. What a _stupid son of a bitch_ I was. A fucking -”

Bucky ripped Steve’s hands from his head, pinning them to his sides. He was angry again, Steve dimly noted. His face was close, hot breath fanning over his face. A sudden memory of Steve wanting to kiss that beautiful face attacked him. Something from far away, deep in his mind, buried under shame and humiliation and fear. And now it was emerging again, begging to take Bucky’s lips. It was so unexpected that it ripped Steve out of his panic, his ranting and word vomit.

God, what had he done?

“Nat was right.” He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Steve. Had Nat told him what Steve had said? “How could no one even notice? What have you been doing to yourself?”

With a blink, Steve studied his tan face. He was angry? No. He was sad. Bucky’s hands loosened their grip on Steve’s wrists, slowly cupping them and bringing them up to eye level examining them carefully and running his thumb over the smooth skin. Checking for scars he realized. He tried to pull them away, but Bucky held fast, thoroughly inspecting.

“I never…”He couldn’t say the whole thing, but Bucky’s grey eyes met his, and he nodded. He still held on to Steve’s wrists, brushing over his pulse and feeling his heartbeat beating overtime. His hand was so fucking big, and it had been so fucking long…

It happened in slow motion, as if Bucky was in honey. His cotton eyes drifted closed and he lifted Steve’s wrist to his mouth, laying a soft kiss on the inside of his wrist. It could have been like they were back in brookland again, with Steve killing himself over things he couldn’t control and Bucky making it so fucking hard not to want. Bucky repeated the action to Steve’s other wrist, slow and focused as if he could take all the guilt and sadness away through two kisses.

He couldn’t, though. In fact, with the small gesture, Steve’s heart broke in his chest, because he knew he’d never be able to have what he really wanted. Bucky thought he was repeating an action he found somewhere in his memories that was intimate and meaningful. To Steve, it was like he was pushing back into himself, retreating into his unconscious mind, avoiding things he couldn’t bere to think about. Not with Bucky here, looking back up at him with confused eyes so close to his face. Maybe never.

“Steve?”

“I can’t come back.” He blinked rapidly in attempt to clear his eyes.

“I’m dying without you.”

Without Steve realizing it, the world had condensed into just the two of them in Steve small apartment, closer than they had been in over 70 years. It shouldn’t have happened. None of this should have ever happened. Bucky should have come home from the war safe, Steve should have stayed home and become an artist, and they should have died with their friends and family and in their own lifetime. Now, by some sick cosmic joke, the universe had put them back together, but with just enough pieces missing so that they didn’t fit together quite as even as they used to.

Steve was dying without Bucky, and apparently Bucky was dying without Steve, but both unsure of how to come back to each other.

“Come live with me. Here.”

Bucky’s hand tightened a fraction around Steve’s wrists before relaxing again. “Here?”

“I can’t…nevermind. I don’t-that’s selfish. Sorry.” He was an ass for even suggesting it. Forcing Bucky to leave the team, all of his newly made friends, to come live with Steve in an unknown environment. But it was hard to imagine going back to the tower, back to Bucky being light years away but within touching distance. He wasn’t sure he could handle more of that. But, if Bucky needed him...he could. He could be strong for Bucky.

“No, I was just surprised. I thought that...maybe you didn’t really want me here. In your space.”

“I can’t ask you to leave everybody, Buck.”

“Steve, you punk, you’re the only friend I really need.” Bucky looked mildly surprised from the words that came out of his mouth, as if tongue went off of muscle memory for a moment. They were so different from anything he’d said so far, coming easily.

Steve wanted to cry again. He didn’t.

 

“This is insane. This is one of the stupidest idea you’ve had, Steve, and I’ve seen you jump out of a plane without a parachute. I’ve seen you charge into battle armed with only that fucking scrap metal shield. I’ve seen you do a lot of stupid things, Steve, but this takes the cake.”

“I get it, I’m stupid.”

“You are beyond stupid. Beyond reason and beyond hope. I don’t know why I still vouch for you.”

“Honestly, sometimes I wonder the same thing.”

Nat was silent for a moment, and Steve heard for shuffling on the other end of the line. “I don’t trust him.”

“I know.”

“And you’re doing this anyway.”

“I have to.”

Again, she was quiet for a beat. “I don’t trust him. But I trust you. And if this ever becomes too much, call me.”

“I will.”

“What is he doing now?”

“Unpacking.”

“Hm. I’ll let you go. Stay on your toes, Steve.”

“Always. Bye Nat.”

Steve hung up and stepped back inside the apartment. The only sign of Bucky moving in was the pair of black combat boots next to Steve’s sneakers. There was no sound of Bucky unpacking from the guest room. He made his way over to see how Bucky was doing.

The man had come with one suitcase and a backpack, but nothing else. Steve didn’t comment on it. Once he had remembered that he could have possessions himself, and that he wasn’t a possession of someone else, his doctor predicted that he would begin to hoard things like food and small objects. Instead, Bucky became extremely selective over the things he called his own as if he were still hesitant about taking too much, or that in some way, he didn’t want to subjugate anything to what he’d gone through.

Steve peaked into the room. It was small and there wasn’t much room for anything else except for a bed and a small night stand. Bucky’s suitcase was on the bed, empty, and on the nightstand there was a small totem of some sort. Bucky wasn’t in the room.

“Bucky?”

There was no response. He briefly considered looking out the window or in his closet but changed his mind. That would require going into Bucky’s room, and somehow Steve didn’t think Bucky would appreciate that. Maybe he was in the bathroom.

He closed Bucky’s door and walked down the hall to his own room where the door was cracked slightly. He frowned, hairs rising ever so slightly. He hadn’t lived with someone for a long time, and small changes tended to throw him off. But it was just Bucky. And if Bucky wanted to explore a little, then Steve was fine with that. His home was Bucky’s home.

“Buck?” he called out again, more to let Bucky know that he was coming and less for an answer. He got no response anyway. He pushed open the door into his room, expecting to find him checking for weapons or wires or whatever he looked for when he first moved into his own place.

Instead, he saw Bucky looking at a small notebook. It was black and leather bound and made Steve’s blood freeze in his veins. It fit easily into Bucky’s large hands. He was turned toward the door, but his face was unreadable, carefully blank of emotion. He didn’t look up at Steve, but instead, flipped the page.

Steve was an idiot. A sentimental idiot. He knew he should have destroyed that book as soon as he’d found it. He knew exactly what was in the notebook even after refusing to look at it after he’d flipped through it the first time after waking up. He knew why Bucky was looking so carefully controlled. His grey eyes flicked at the other page.

Everything had changed. Bucky’s hair was long now. Steve was getting cat called. Kombucha was a thing now. Who would have guessed?

But he was sure that some things have decidedly not changed. And the implications of the notebook were static as ever.

Steve backed out of the room.

He was outside, somehow, the warm air hitting him in the face. He should probably take off his sweatshirt. He didn’t.

The sun was sinking below the trees. It was that sweet orange color and it filtered through the branches. The bench was in the shade, though. He rolled up his sleeves and sat down, staring over the water of The Lake.

The water turned red and then purple and then black. It wasn’t water, it was ink. It was the same ink that had cursed Steve.

Maybe he should call Nat. He really wasn’t well, was he? Everyone thought he was so stable all the time. Static. Had someone said something to him just now? Who could tell. It might have been hours ago. He should take a trip. He should get out of New York for a while. Get out of the city. He’d always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.

Oh. It was Bucky. It was always Bucky. Who else could find him here? The only person would have had to know him when he was a skinny nobody, shivering in the cold as the wind blew straight through his thin coat.

_“Jesus, Steve, you’re going to die out here. Won’t ya give it a rest? The water is gonna be here in the morning, you know. Or in the summer? Why do you gotta do this right now?”_

_“The lighting is good.” Charcoal stained under his fingernails and streaked his short hair, recently cut by Bucky with a pair of blunt kitchen scissors. Steve thought it looked alright. Bucky said he’d butchered it. In the end, who really cared? It’s not like the dames were gonna look at him any different with a good hair cut._

_“Please. Don’t give me that crap. You’re just being a damn punk about it, stubborn as ever. Just give it a rest,” he repeated._

_“I can’t. If I keep giving it a rest I’ll never get it right.”_

_Bucky peered over Steve’s shoulder. “Looks good to me. Looks real good.”_

_“Not good enough.”_

_“Yeah, well, how good does it have to be. I’m freezing my ass off here.”_

_“Then haul your ass back to the apartment. I’ll be here.”_

_Bucky let out a long sigh, and for a while, He said nothing. Steve’s hands were raw and red from the cold and his couldn’t stop the chills that racked his body every minute or so. The water was rough today, and Steve couldn’t get the texture right. It looked lifeless and flat and it shouldn’t be this hard because he could get faces right all the way to the exact detail, but a puddle of water was practically impossible for him. He let out a breath, the warm air visible as it condensed before their eyes. He just needed to relax._

_Bucky shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around Steve’s shoulders. Steve snarled and threw it back in Bucky's face. “Stop. I’m fine. You’re gonna get sick if you go without a coat. I have one.”_

_“Yeah, and look how much good it’s doin ya. Just take mine and then you can finish your stupid drawing and we can go home. I ain’t doin this for you, pal.” He wrapped the coat back around Steve’s shoulders. It was still warm from Bucky’s body and made Steve’s muscles sag from the extra heat._

_“Fine,” Steve grumbled. “But if you get sick, You’re taking care of your own sorry ass.”_

_Steve finished the drawing, and Bucky was fine. Not even a runny nose. Steve caught a cold and was in bed for a day or two. Bucky took care of him._

“This place is important.”

“Maybe.”

“It was colder. You were smaller.”

“Hm.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shrug.

“You were always good at faces.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Pause. “You here?”

“Not really.”

_Steve was staring at the black, leather bound notebook in Natasha’s hand. It was covered in grime and dust and some of the pagers were sticking out. “I didn’t go through it,” she said carefully. “But I saw your name in the front cover and the first couple of pages only. I don’t know why it was there, but everyone was taken care of, by us or cyanide pills themselves. Tony hacked the system. There was no mention of it, and we burned the place down so any paper records were destroyed. I’m the only one who knows about it.”_

_“Why?” Steve asked, still not taking it even as she offered it to him._

_“I’m...not sure. Something felt...personal about it. I don’t like knowing things about my friends that they themselves don’t offer to tell me.”_

We’re friends _. Natasha didn’t feel like a friend. But then, Natasha wasn’t particularly_ friendly _to begin with. And he could really use a friend besides Sam right now, and Tony wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind. “Thank you.” Her steady eyes blinked once in acknowledgement._

_He took the book._

_Why had hydra had it? Bucky had been sent to kill him, so it was obvious that they did their research on him. But this...where had they even found it? Had they raided his things 70 plus years ago and found it, keeping it all this time. With Bucky in their hands, why had they not used it? And if they thought he was dead in the ice, why keep it?_

_But according to Nat, anyone who might have answered those questions was dead. He opened the book and looked at each yellowed page. Natasha gave him some room as he traces his now larger fingers over the careful lines he’d made ages ago. He’d filled up the whole thing. On the last page, he’d scribbled ‘_ Till the end of the line.

He’d kept it carefully hidden in his old apartment before he was forced to move when Fury was shot and it proved to be too dangerous. He’d kept it in the corner of the top shelf in his closet when he’d moved into the Stark tower with the other avengers and didn’t take it out until he was packing for his leave to clear his head. To grieve. And then he’d taken it out and placed it in his bag without opening it.

How had he forgotten? He even expected Bucky to carefully search each nook and cranny. Steve’s book was hardly even out of sight, tucked in a bookshelf with a couple other novels.

“Did you look through it all?”

“...yeah.”

“Oh.”

“I couldn't...stop.”

“What…” Steve blinked. He was sitting in Central Park with Bucky next to him, staring over the water. The notebook was still in his hands. Hand. Only his human one, the metal one tucked in his pocket. “What did you think?”

“It was good. I don’t know much about art, but...it was good.”

Steve dug his thumbnail into the flap of skin between his index and thumb on his left hand. “That was the last thing I drew.”

“Before?”

“At all.”

“You stopped?”

“No. I just don’t draw anymore. I don’t think it was a conscience decision though. I just...I guess I stopped. But it didn’t feel that way.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t looked at it since I first got it back.”

“Do you want to...now?”

“No. Yes.” He looked down at Bucky’s hands again. “Yeah.”

He offered it to Steve, but Steve couldn’t take it. His hands remained in his pockets. All he could do was look at it.

Bucky pulled his hand back and opened the book.

All the lines were feathered now, but it was still clear to Steve. Must have been for Bucky, too. After all, it was his own face. He was smoking, the light making his hard lines softer and his eyes shiney. He was outside in their fire escape because Steve couldn't handle the smoke and Bucky was having a hard time quitting. It was the night that Bucky had given the small book to Steve.

The next picture was Bucky making eggs. It was more of a doodle than a completed picture, but it captured his large smile and bright eyes as Steve saw them through his morning haze. It was blinding.

One of them was of Bucky’s back, face turned away. He was sleeping on the couch, arms splayed everywhere in the heat of the summer. His skin glistened with sweat and the muscles were clearly defined. Looking at it made Steve want to cover his eyes, cover Bucky’s eyes, and burn the fucking book. Bucky stayed on that page for a long time.

Then it was him with his uniform. His hat was tipped to the side and his hair was clipped short and slicked back. He was again smoking a cigarette, but this time he looked straight at the viewer. His eyes were foggy and his eyelids were half closed. His mouth fell open slightly as the cig dangled from his lips.

The last page had Bucky on the mountain right before they ziplined down onto the speeding train. His mouth was pressed tight and his eyes nervous, and he looked into the valley below. _‘Til the end of the line._

Bucky had fallen. Two weeks later, Steve crashed.

“Steve?”

Steve from the night he’d drawn the water would have gotten angry and defensive. _“Yes, alright! I love you. Woop-dee-doo. I’m a fucking fairy. Happy?”_

The “I love you,” that came out was just sad. He couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “It wasn’t suppose to…” Steve wasn’t suppose to love him. It wasn’t suppose to happen this way. _He was suppose to die in the ice._

Bucky was quiet for a long time, and Steve didn’t offer any other words. But he didn’t leave either, so they ended up pressed against each other, shoulder to shoulder listening to the water.

Steve had heard that when people open up about a secret they’ve been holding for years and years, it is suppose to be a tremendous weight lifted off their shoulders. Instead, it felt like his heart was trying to curl in on itself. His entire body was so tense it hurt, but he couldn’t seem to relax. He was getting a cramp in his lower neck that spread to his shoulders.

“How long?” he finally asked. It was soft, gentler than Steve expected Bucky to be with this newfound information.

It took equally long for Steve to answer. _How long_? How was he suppose to answer that? _Since you beat up that kid Micky in the fourth grade and then I yelled at you because you made me look like a sissy. When you got roses for my mom on her birthday when I never even told you when it was. When you kissed me on the head that night I had that horrible fever, and I was sweaty and gross and sick but you still stayed close_. And then, how could he possible tell Bucky that? “For a while,” he said lamely.

“Before the serum?”

“Yeah.”

He saw Bucky run his thumb over the cover of the book. He itched to take it back, throw it in the lake, and then jump after it and let himself sink into the sediment on the bottom.

“And…” He heard Bucky swallow. “What about after... hydra. What about now?”

And fuck, Bucky really didn’t need this. He was still trying to figure out who he was and what he wanted. He sure as hell didn’t need Steve fucking everything up. But he was asking, and Steve couldn’t lie to him. Not now. “Yeah.” Because it was the truth. Bucky dragged him out of the water and Steve knew he was fucked. Even when Bucky chose rooming by himself and hanging out with Clint or Tony instead of reaching out to Steve. He would only have to look into those grey eyes and know that he would always love Bucky, and neither hydra nor time could ever take that away from him. Would he even want it to? He’d loved Bucky for as long as he could remember. If he ever lost that, what would he have left?

“I’m sorry. You don’t need...this. I don’t know why I even kept that. I’m-I’m sorry.”

“When you first told me about Peggy, I was so excited for you.” Steve’s stomach dropped. He was going to throw up. He was going to die. Why wouldn’t God just let him fucking die? “I saw you with this amazing woman, and I thought, ‘Here is the woman Steve finally deserves. Someone strong and intelligent and beautiful’. I asked her for a dance when I first met her. I don’t know if you remember.” He did. “She shot me down so quick I got whiplash. You’d met the perfect woman. And I was so happy for you...but it didn’t make me happy. It made something inside me twist up and rot. I thought there was something wrong with me. I thought I was jealous of you, and it made me sick. You’d never had anything, never asked for anything, and even the very notion that I was jealous made me fucking sick.

But, when I watched you talk to her and laugh with her, I realized something: I wasn’t jealous of you, I was jealous of _her_. Because suddenly, she could see how amazing and beautiful and kind you were. How special you were. I wasn’t the only one. And with your new body, what the hell did you need me around for anymore? Without you, who the hell was I?”

“What?” Steve asked, and then, for the first time, he looked at Bucky in the eyes. “What are you talking about. Now one ever wanted me. It was always you. Always. I was always holding you back. All I wanted to do was not be a burden. I didn’t want you to have to take care of me, Buck.”

His grey eyes weren’t looking at Steve, though. They drifted over the water. “Without you, I’m nothing. I die.” _I’m dying without you_. “Steve, I loved you since the moment I saw you with your skinny ass. I didn’t really know until you met Peggy. I knew I wanted things from you that I shouldn’t have. I knew that I thought about you in a way that made me fucking terrified. But I didn’t know I loved you until Peggy. And then, it was too late. You deserved a life so much better than me.”

“But I only ever wanted you.”

Bucky laughed harshly. “So here we are. I have a metal arm and a broken head and you are being torn apart by guilt you don’t deserve, and we’ve been in love with each other for all our lives but waited an entire century to realize it.”

 _Bucky...loved him_. He loved _him_! And then Steve was laughing, but it wasn’t that clipped sound that Bucky made. It was genuine, and he couldn’t stop. He was vaguely aware of Bucky looking at him, but he was doubled over, his stomach hurting and he couldn’t breath, but it was the good type of drowning. He never knew there was a good type of drowning. “I love you,” he wheezed when he had enough air, looking up at Bucky’s wide eyes which sent him spiraling away again.

Bucky’s hand took his face, cupping him firmly. Steve sobered up instantly, but Bucky wasn’t waiting. He swooped down, capturing his lips in a kiss.

Steve was kissing Bucky in the middle of Central Park.

The kiss itself was a simple press. It was warm and dry and Steve could smell Bucky’s aftershave. He sighed and his hands inched toward Bucky, finally resting on his shoulders, holding him by the back of the neck to keep him close.

_I love you James._

Steve felt something crack inside him as Bucky’s hands moved towards his hair. It felt like he had been living his whole life waiting for this, and by some impossible circumstances, he’d been given another chance. This time, he would be able to hold on. He wouldn't let Bucky fall again. Or himself.


End file.
